The Widow’s Absolutely Wild Captain (The Notorious Briarwoods #16)

Chapter 1

Captain Lord Calchas Briarwood, second son of the Duke of Westleigh, was trying to have a good time.

He was failing immensely and it was incredibly frustrating.

After all, he was a Briarwood. Having a good time was second nature to Briarwoods.

Wherever Briarwoods went, they brought an excellent sense of adventure, good humor, and fun.

He had all three of those things. He had all three of those things in abundance.

Yet, here, in the East End, with his cousins, drinking gin in the Wicked Cat Tavern, attempting to act as if everything was perfectly in order, Calchas felt out of place.

The din of the place was as loud as any battle.

Plates, tankards, and silverware banged and clanked on long wood tables that bore splinters as vicious as any spear.

A button accordion was being played vigorously in the corner by a one-legged man, whose fingers moved as spritely as any youth’s, but the man had the weathered skin of a sailor, and Calchas wouldn’t be at all surprised if the man had lost his limb at sea during the wars that had dominated the world these last twenty years.

A cat, perhaps the wicked cat the tavern was named after, perched beside the accordion player, his green eyes surveying his realm with pleasure.

The scent of gin, ale, and hardworking bodies dominated the space, and it was packed as any barrel of fish.

He’d been in taverns all over the world and usually felt at home in them. But not recently.

Firstly, the cousins that he had spent the most time with were all with their wives, making babies. Now, Calchas had nothing against the making of babies. He adored the small children that toddled or darted, depending on their size, about Heron House.

The world should have more Briarwoods. It had been said more than once. Yes, his closest cousins had settled down. No more bachelor’s life or wild nights for them.

And so, he was out with the ever-so-slightly younger generation of Briarwood cousins as well as the new Scottish additions. They were all excellent fellows. However, it meant that he felt old, grumpy, and somewhat curmudgeonly around them.

He was not an old man. In fact, he was still in his twenties.

But years spent at sea fighting both the French and, of course, the Americans, for that ridiculous period of time when everybody lost control of themselves, had made him, well, old.

If not in body, then at least somewhat in spirit, because Calchas had seen the worst of people.

He’d also seen the best. But there were images in his head now that could not be easily eradicated, not even by gin. He’d tried, and he’d quickly learned that attempting to eradicate images with gin was the path to a hellish existence.

So, he sipped at the liquid that he was certain could be lit and used to start a rather incredible fire and eyed the crowd about him. It was another problem with being a former warrior. He could not simply sit in a crowd and feel comfortable. How he wished he could be oblivious to his surroundings.

But no, like so many other warriors of land and sea, he sat with his back to the wall, looking about for any sight of mischief that was about to occur. He was also aware of every possible exit point.

His cousins, who had not joined the war because they were all too young when it began, and even in the middle of it, drank merrily.

How he adored them: Deimos, Laertes, and Perseus.

They were all good-natured, fun, and intelligent young men.

His Scottish cousins by marriage, Brodie, Archie, and Leith, were slightly more boisterous and wild, if such a thing was possible, and they seemed to wish to have an even better time than the slightly repressed English Briarwoods.

It was hilarious to think that Briarwoods could be repressed, but he did admire the wildness of the Scots.

“You quite all right, Calchas?” Laertes asked, elbowing him.

Calchas sat a little bit straighter. “Of course I am. I am merely taking in the crowd.”

“I don’t buy it for a second,” drawled Brodie, his russet hair almost copper in the lamplight of the tavern. He arched a brow, clearly unwilling to drop the issue easily.

“Don’t you?” Calchas asked, not liking being called out for his slightly surly thoughts about, well, the genuine lack of understanding of the world in this room.

He supposed his cousins and cousins by marriage all understood it better than most. After all, they actually came to the East End.

They witnessed the lives of others outside nobility.

They traveled. They weren’t silly like so many of the lords he knew, who refused to acknowledge the state of the world and how awful it had been and would continue to be for so many despite the best efforts of people like his father, the Duke of Westleigh.

“Look,” Perseus said, leaning back against the rough wood chair, his emerald coat stretching at his broad shoulders. “You don’t need to make merry, Calchas. None of us expect you to. But we’re worried about you.”

“Why in God’s name would you be worried about me?” Calchas demanded, sitting a little straighter.

“Well, you’ve been in a really bad humor for quite some time,” said Deimos as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Calchas swung his gaze from one cousin to the other and then the next as he narrowed his eyes. They were a host of handsome, rugged faces, all staring at him expectantly, as if he might pour his soul out.

His brow furrowed so intensely he could actually feel it. “Is this some sort of ambush?” he gritted. “Did you lot invite me here to call me on the carpet?”

“Yes,” replied Leith with a merry grin and a salute of his glass of gin.

Calchas ground his teeth and started to stand, but Laertes grabbed him by the arm and slammed him back down on his seat. Calchas eyed his cousin’s hand upon his arm and said, “That’s not the best idea in the whole world.”

“It’s an excellent idea,” Laertes returned easily. “We are here to help you sort yourself out. You’re going to let us help you. Or you’re going to end up like one of those old men sitting at the edge of the long bar, drinking gin and telling the same stories over and over again.”

Perseus shuddered. “Or worse, saying nothing and staring into your gin as if it’s the love of your life.”

“That’s not going to happen. I don’t even like gin,” Calchas said.

“Fine then,” Laertes rushed, clearly refusing to be put off his mission. “Something else. Maybe it won’t be drink at all, but you’ll be muttering, grumpy about the state of the world.”

“I already know how fortunate I am,” Calchas bit out, shocked that these pups had the audacity to try to pull him out of his black mood.

He was also incredibly touched, if incredibly irritated.

Archie cocked his head to the side, waggling his very active eyebrows. “You know how fortunate you are, and you’ve suffered a great deal.”

“I have not suffered,” Calchas retorted with a snort. “Don’t say ridiculous things. I made it out of the war with not a single hair on my head touched.”

And it was true. He was the luckiest man alive. He’d made a fortune taking cargo from enemy ships. He’d survived with every single limb, digit, tooth, and both of his eyes.

Archie rolled his eyes, then tsked. “Yes, well, the package is undamaged, but I have a funny feeling that the contents have been dislodged.”

Calchas pressed his mouth into a thin line. How he wished he could speak to his other warrior cousins at present and get these silly lads off his back. They didn’t understand the difficulties of going from war to the niceties of society.

And he’d been at sea for so long now, with brief periods in the ton, that he’d really begun to find it difficult to, well, let go.

Life in the ton was an adventure for those in the ton.

And sometimes their lives were so bloody boring that they had to make up adventures by causing difficulties for each other.

Calchas knew that out in the real world, adventure was at every turn. Just getting up in the morning could be a bloody adventure, depending on if one was on a ship south of Argentina or sailing around the more brutal storms of the Atlantic.

Well, he didn’t have to worry about that now. Except for the fact that, without telling anyone, he had purchased a cutter. It was currently at the East India docks. And every day, it was all he could do not to march down and set sail again.

The horizon was calling him.

It beckoned with such a siren-like force that it hurt. But he knew how much his parents had missed him, how much his family loved him, and how horribly unhappy his grandmother would be if he suddenly headed off to parts unknown when he no longer needed to do so.

They had all been waiting for this moment, the moment when Napoleon was done, when the wars were over and the whole family was reunited. That’s what they had fought for, wasn’t it?

He had fought for it too, for the ability to come home and stay at home. But it seemed to him that the people who had to go out and fight for such things could never really return home, no matter how hard they tried.

Maximus had done it, mostly. Octavian also, though Calchas knew they both struggled. Their wives helped them, but Calchas was the last to return. And without a wife, he wasn’t entirely certain that he was going to be able to follow in their footsteps and domesticate himself.

“You should have babies,” Perseus suddenly said.

Calchas cleared his throat, not surprised that Perseus had taken a similar line to his own thinking. But he wasn’t about to admit that. And he wasn’t about to start making babies in the hope it saved him somehow. “What the devil are you talking about?”

“Have a family. Settle down. It’ll make you very happy. It’s the nature of all Briarwoods to settle down. It’s time,” said Laertes between sips of gin.

“Excuse me,” Calchas returned. “If you think it so wise, you settle down and have babies.”

Laertes grinned. “Oh, I’m thinking about it. Don’t you worry. I look around at my uncles, and I have never seen happier people in the wide world, even with the difficulties that they have. I am looking for a wife at present.”

And Brodie grinned too. “And of course, I am likely going to propose soon.”

There was far too much grinning.

Calchas swung his gaze to Brodie. “To one of my cousins?”

“Yes,” Brodie replied easily.

Calchas leaned forward. “Why are you prevaricating then?”

Leith sighed dramatically. “Because they’re feisty and they have plans.”

“Plans?” Calchas asked blankly.

“Good God, man. Do you not talk to your family at all?” Leith asked.

“You know how they are,” Archie added, chagrined. “Nothing is as simple as it seems.”

“That’s the bloody truest thing I’ve heard this night,” Calchas replied.

Brodie plunked his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Come on then. Let us help you embrace life as a lord, rather than as a naval man.”

Calchas let his gaze drop to his emerald-green coat.

Even now, he felt deeply uncomfortable outside of his uniform.

He’d worn a naval coat for so long that he had to pull at his own cuffs at present.

They were beautifully made. His entire ensemble was beautifully made, but being dressed in a pedestrian manner was quite strange.

“I…don’t know if I can,” Calchas admitted.

Laertes blew out a breath. “Well, at least we’re not ignoring it and pretending everything is just fine.”

“I do hate that sort of pretense,” added Perseus.

“Half the world runs on that sort of pretense,” Calchas pointed out.

“Do we look like we’re part of that half?” Deimos demanded, waving at one of the barmaids to bring them another round.

As the barmaid swung by, her tray high on her shoulder, she made eye contact with Calchas. Her bright eyes sparked as if she hoped that perhaps they might be able to find a moment together later. Calchas considered it for a moment, but he was not really interested in empty pairings.

He wasn’t that kind of man. Especially now. He had no desire to make his life hollower than it already felt, and the mindless pursuit of pleasure left men brittle.

He was wild. There was no question. His soul hungered for adventure and intensity, but not for the pursuit of quick satiation.

Sometimes he thought it would be easier if he did wish for such quick measures.

But he’d never cared for easy things. None of his family did. So, if he was going to do something, he’d do it fully, passionately, and wildly, or not at all.

And that was likely why he was failing at being a rake about town. He’d tried the life of a rake these last months—wine, women, song, gambling. It hadn’t worked.

He was wild. Oh yes. But for true wild things. Not the semblance of them.

“Perhaps I should just settle into being an old man,” Calchas groused. Maybe that was the only way he could make the wild streak in him dissipate.

Laertes rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. Grandmother is actually old, but she certainly doesn’t act it. So don’t be an old young man. It’s preposterous. You’re lucky.”

“Yes, yes,” Calchas said, shoving aside his dismay. “I know how lucky I am. I don’t need a lecture upon it. I promise you. It’s just—”

“What?” Perseus asked, genuinely curious.

“It’s all so dreadfully…”

“What?” Laertes prompted.

“Boring,” he replied honestly, hating himself once the word slipped past his lips. He’d been given the gift of life. How dare he find any of this boring?

Leith let out a laugh and gestured around the East End pub, his gold ring winking in the light. “This is boring?”

Calchas ground his teeth. How did he explain that when one had been to the farthest-flung places of the world, engaged in harrowing battles, sailed many of the seas, and seen the wildest things that, yes, this was boring?

Laertes let out a low whistle. “You’re done for then, man. If you think London is boring, you’re in trouble.”

Calchas ground his teeth because he couldn’t disagree. He was in trouble, very serious trouble, and he had no idea what the remedy was. And though his family longed to help him, he wasn’t sure anyone could.